Incarnations
by MetaphysicalNinja
Summary: Scott wakes one morning to find a letter waiting for him. Though he doesn't know it, opening that letter will trigger a chain of events that will change his life forever. This work can stand alone, though it really doesn't have a normal sort of plot. (Not a Scott/Jackson story)


****A/N:This work can stand alone, though it really doesn't have a sort of plot. The events in this story take place in the same world as my Triskelion series. As the letter makes up the majority of this story's text, I've decided to leave it alone; instead, the events that take place outside the letter are written in ******__**italics**__******.****

__Scott McCall likes sleep. He would even go so far as to say that he likes it more than the average teenaged boy (though maybe not as much as Stiles does, if one could stretch the definition of "average" to include Stiles Stilinsky). That's why, at eleven o'clock on a Saturday morning, he hasn't made much of an effort to get out of his bed; these last few minutes of sleep are way more important than anything he has to do today. He knows, however, that his mom will be in any second to rouse him, as she's on shift at the hospital this afternoon. She never leaves the house for work without waking him. It's some weird idea of hers. "If I can go through all the trouble of being up and ready for work by noon on Saturday, you should at least be able to get out of bed." She always says it with a loving smile, but her eyes convey the seriousness her voice doesn't.__

__No sooner had the thought crossed his mind than Melissa McCall knocks at his door. "Scott, honey, get up. If I can go through the trouble of getting up and ready for work before noon, the least you can do is get your werewolf ass out of bed and into the shower." Despite the morning sluggishness, he can't help but smile at her words.__

" __Yeah mom. I'm getting up." And with those five simple words, he pulls himself out of bed and hobbles blindly (you try opening your eyes to bright light after you've just woken up) in the general direction of the bathroom. After a quick shower, he pads into the kitchen just in time to see his mother walk out the door. Sighing, he turns to the fridge and sets about making his breakfast, though considering his breakfast consists of a bowl of Mini-Wheats and a glass of orange juice, there may not be much "making" involved. He sits at the table, and as he begins to consume the aforementioned Breakfast of Champions, something catches his attention in the corner of his eye.__

__Sitting on the table is a stack of letters his mom must have brought in. It was the top letter that captures Scott's attention; his name and address are written across the middle of the envelope in a somewhat untidy scrawl that still manages to look elegant somehow. Scott eyez the envelope warily for a few moments. The only person who ever sent him anything was his father, and his handwriting was very different from the elegant print that adorns that envelope. That fact alone makes him wary of opening it. He spent enough time around Deaton to know that even the most mundane of objects could be made into something potentially deadly if a person had the right knowledge to make it happen. It is giving off a scent that seems vaguely familiar to Scott, however, and his wolf is telling him that he can trust it. It doesn't smell like Wolfsbane, and when he pokes it, nothing bad happened, so he decides to take a chance and open it.__

__The familiar scent washes over him as soon as he opens it, and he wishes more than anything that he could place it. Inside, there are a few pages written in the same scrawl as his address on the front of the envelope.__

McCall,

I'm not really sure where to start. I've never been a good person. In my life. Ever. I've been a jackass. I was a jackass to you, to Stilinsky, to Lydia, and pretty much anyone I've ever met except Danny.

The last time you saw me, I didn't know how to be anything else. The day my dad told me I was adopted, I didn't know what to think. I lost all sense of the identity I had taken my entire life to create for myself. I shut everyone out; I didn't want anything other than to be left alone. The people I looked up to my whole life had been lying to me. There was no one I could trust.

The cocky, popular, douchebag lacrosse player who filed a restraining order against you and Stilinsky is the product of years of internalizing. I wore the mask so long that it became my identity. On top of that, I was spoiled and sheltered.

I didn't know anything about life, McCall. All I knew was the fake reality that existed inside the bubble I constructed around myself. I suppose I did it to protect myself. I couldn't go through that sort of pain again, and the only way to make sure it didn't happen was to keep myself distanced from everyone. So I wore the mask. I made sure to surround myself with people so that my parents didn't worry. The truth is that none of those people gave a shit about me. They cared about the go-hard lacrosse player that drove a Porsche and threw wild parties and bought them things for just hanging around him. They didn't care about me; they cared about using me. Danny is the only one who has ever really given a shit about me, and I tried to push even him away.

I guess that's what made me hate you so much. From the outside, you seemed like such a normal kid. You had a normal life with no worries or lies, and I was jealous of you, McCall. Jealous of the stupid asthmatic fucker who warmed the bench on the lacrosse team. Jealous of the weird, loud, hyper kid who always looks like he takes too much Adderall. You two have something I couldn't get, no matter how hard I tried. You have a bond that runs deeper than any friendship, and you don't have to hide anything from each other. You guys have no idea how much I wanted that with someone, how much I still do.

When you started acting weird, I got curious. When you suddenly got better at lacrosse overnight, I got pissed. I couldn't take ownership of many things in my life, but lacrosse was something I was genuinely good at. It was the one thing I could do better than you. I worked hard at it, and I cared about it. Trapped in a world of plastic friends and fake happiness, lacrosse was the only thing I truly cared about, McCall; it was mine. More than ever I wanted to figure out how you cheated life. Where I worked hard, you barely lifted a finger. No one gets that good overnight.

I guess that's why, when Derek finally got tired of my begging and bit me, it went so terribly wrong. All that rage and insecurity coupled with the lies made me into an abomination. The bite didn't make me into the Kanima; it just brought it out into the open. It took the person I had become, and gave it life.

That's why I left. Knowing I killed all those people... Knowing that, while the bite brought the Kanima out, I had been the one to create it... it's unbearable, Scott. I couldn't stay in Beacon Hills; to do so would mean that I would look my sins in the face every day. I would see the holes I left in people's lives; empty spaces where human beings once stood would cry out to me. I wouldn't have been able to handle that, so I left.

London has been good to me, though. There's a great wolf pack here in this city, and while I'm not a part of the pack, they've been more kind to me than I could ever hope. They let me hunt on their land, and if I get into trouble, they're always there to help me out. Other than that, we leave each other alone. As long as I don't make life hard for them, they let me stay here and continue to call London my home.

I came here to sort things out. Getting away from Beacon Hills has given me the space I needed to grow up. Instead of bottling my emotions up and trying to be someone I'm not, I've dropped the facade and started to work through my problems.

Don't get me wrong. It hasn't been easy here; a lot of shit has happened, actually. There were some issues with a pack of Alphas for a while, and it turned into a mess. I got kidnapped, actually. That was fun. Got locked in a tower for two weeks before my friends found me, I was tortured basically daily, and deprived of food for most of the time I was there. Alphas in London don't care how rich you are. They care about how loud you scream when they cut you open and show your guts to you. They care about how far they can push you before you break.

The time I spent there with them put a lot of things in perspective for me. There are some things that you go through, and when they're over you can't help but appreciate life a little more. Food tastes just a little bit better, and water feels a little more satisfying with each sip I too. Being an asshole looks much less appealing from this side of things.

My point, though, is that I'm not the same person I was when I left Beacon Hills. I've grown up. I've learned that the world doesn't care if you're rich. It doesn't care what sort of car you drive, or what clothes you wear. Being better than someone isn't important. Being a better person is. I've been a shitty person for a long time, and I think it's time that changed.

You're probably reading this letter and asking yourself why I would bother sending one at all. The answer is actually pretty simple. I don't hate you. I never did. Of all the people I wronged, you are at the top of the list. We've already established that I was a dick to you. Every day. You could count on it. You had absolutely no reason to care about Jackson Whittemore. You cared anyway. When I was turning into a crazy lizard demon thing that killed people, you wouldn't let Derek kill me. You tried to save me. You kept trying no matter how much I pushed back. You and Stilinsky were there when no one else gave a fuck.

I can't say anything to that. There aren't words for it. "Thank you" doesn't even begin to cover it. So I want to do the next best thing. I want you to know that I'm trying to be a better person; what you did made a difference in my life. I'm going to be a better person for you, Scott, and for myself, because you made me see who I am. That is my "Thank you".

All the best,

-Jackson Whittemore

PS. I'm thinking of making a trip back "across the pond" sometime soon. Maybe I'll even stay. I won't come back to Beacon Hills just yet, though. I'm not ready for that. I was thinking maybe somewhere like Boston. I've only been once, when I was little, but I loved it.

****A/N: I hope you enjoyed it :)****

****I have some pretty big plans for this little world I've created around these stories, so if you don't think it makes sense, keep checking back for the other stories to be posted. ****

****If you haven't already, you should go check out my other story, titled ******__**Choices**__****__**. **__**

****Please leave comments if you like it, and if you would like to be notified when I post a new story, subscribe to me and/or follow me on tumblr (thatguy516).****

****As always, I don't own any of the characters, places, etc. that I've written about. Done for fun, not for profit.****


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